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She told herself he was arrogant, assumptive and impatient. Yet she could understand why, considering how much he was fighting for. How much he’d lost. He’d barely mentioned the family whom had been murdered by Malouf, but Olivia sensed the deep, dark current of pain running right through his centre and it made her ache. He was also kind, considerate and gentle, and that made her ache even more.
She should leave, Olivia thought, before she did something both dangerous and stupid and started to fall in love with him.
As quietly as she could she started to move from the bed, but the second she tried to slip her hand from his his grip tightened, and he hauled her forward so she was pressed against him. He moved again, seemingly in his sleep, so she was resting with her head on his shoulder, their hands still entwined on his chest. Once again his breathing evened out.
Olivia lay there, enjoying the feel of his powerful body pillowing her head, the steady thud of his heart under her cheek. She could smell his aftershave and feel his heat and it felt so very, very nice to lie here in Zayed’s arms, the moon starting to rise, creating silver patterns on the floor. For a moment she let herself imagine having something like this every night—and the man in that far too pleasant fantasy was Zayed.
She wasn’t falling in love with him. She absolutely couldn’t be. And yet she longed. She couldn’t deny the river of yearning that wound its way through her at this very moment, threatening to flood its banks as Zayed pulled her even closer, his other hand splayed possessively across her hip, his knee nudging in between her own.
Olivia closed her eyes, both savouring the sweetness of the moment and trying to fight its intensity. Because it would be so easy to let herself be swept away, let herself fall.
Eventually she started to relax and, with Zayed deeply asleep, she fell into a doze.
* * *
The pain in his head receded to a dull ache as Zayed drifted in and out of sleep, conscious of the softness of the bed and the even more enticing softness of the warm, pliant body next to his. Sleep still fogged his mind as he pulled the body closer, enjoying the way her breasts were pressed against his chest, her hips nudging his. Heat flared, and when she arched a little bit against him, it flared hotter and brighter.
In one smooth movement he rolled on top of her, his hands seeking and finding all the soft curves and tempting dips of her body. He slid his hand up one slender, perfect thigh to the warmth at her centre, and she moaned. The heat inside him was a pulsing need, taking over all his senses.
He pressed his knee between hers, nudging her legs apart even further, positioning his body so he could bury himself in her welcoming depths.
She arched up to meet him and Zayed braced himself on his forearms. The pain in his head flickered, a second’s distraction that had him suddenly stilling. God in heaven, what was he doing? He could jeopardise everything by making love with Olivia now.
With a groan he rolled off her, his body aching, his heart thudding. It felt like the hardest thing he’d ever done.
After a taut second Olivia rolled the other way, curling her knees up to her chest. The pain thudded through Zayed’s head again and he closed his eyes.
‘Olivia...’
‘It’s all right.’ Her voice was a broken whisper, a ragged breath.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘I know.’
‘The moment... I was asleep...’ He felt that nothing he said could help. ‘I got carried away and I shouldn’t have.’
‘I got carried away too.’ She spoke softly, her back to him. When he cracked an eye open he could see the tender nape of her neck, and it made guilt rush through him all over again. Enough with the guilt. He needed to get Olivia out of his life, or he needed to get out of hers, and the sooner the better. He couldn’t let himself get distracted. Duty was far more important. He closed his eyes again and pictured the helicopter filled with flames. Imagined he could see his father’s and brother’s faces, although he hadn’t been able to at the time. And then he saw himself running away, hustled by his staff to safety. Even now, ten years later, the shame of it bit deep. Coward. No one had ever said it to him, but he’d felt it. How he’d felt it.
‘Survivor’s guilt,’ his advisors had told him more than once. It happens. And he knew, in his head, in his gut, that he’d needed to survive. He was the last of the line, the only one remaining of a dynasty that stretched back centuries, the only person who could wrest control from Malouf. But in his heart he felt the guilt, the shame, and he didn’t think it would ever leave him.
Which was why he had to focus on his duty and how to atone for the past. And the only service Olivia Taylor could provide for him was going away quietly.
As if she read his thoughts, she rose from the bed in one fluid movement, shrugging off the hand he hadn’t even realised he’d stretched out to her.
‘I’ll go,’ she said quietly, smoothing her dress down and slipping on her heels. ‘You need your sleep. Is the headache better?’
‘A bit.’
‘Good.’ She gave him a fleeting smile that didn’t meet her eyes.
‘Thank you, Olivia. I am sorry.’
‘It’s fine.’ She lifted her chin. ‘It’s fine,’ she said again, and then she was gone.
The silence of the room felt endless and empty as Zayed lay on his bed, his head aching as much as his heart. He didn’t care about Olivia, he told himself. He didn’t care about anyone like that and never would. Caring was inviting vulnerability and pain, something he had no intention of doing. If you cared about someone, your enemies could and would use it against you. He would never allow that to happen again.
But he still felt guilty and restless, wishing things had been different. If he’d kidnapped the right woman...then he would never have met Olivia.
